


There We Will Give Each Other Our Hands

by flamingosarepink



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Complicated Relationships, Heavy Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22744777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamingosarepink/pseuds/flamingosarepink
Summary: Pierre watches the way that Max stiffens on the couch opposite his own, the sleek glass coffee table being the only thing that separates them. Clearly Pierre has touched on a subject that Max, who he knows for a fact to be without shame of any sort, finds uncomfortable given the setting. Maybe he too remembers Pierre catching the two of them in flagrante delicto, with Max’s hand around Charles’s throat just so and a familiar voice trailing him as the front door slammed shut without so much as a word. Even less was said between them a year later until Charles had cornered him outside of the Toro Rosso motorhome on some race weekend in the not so distant past.
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen, Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	There We Will Give Each Other Our Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from the opera Don Giovanni by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, and is a translation of a lyric from the duet Là ci darem la mano.

The sound of a door being slowly opened followed by the squeak of an old hinge is likely behind Pierre being awoken at this hour of the early morning, just as the sun rises over the marina outside. Early morning sunlight is held at bay to a tolerable level by the curtains over the huge bedroom window. Curtains which, have not been pulled back in some time. Not while the two of them live together, lest any eagle eyed person looks through while they’re opened to reveal any secrets of a life which already, Pierre feels fiercely protective of. Even in the early morning light Pierre can see Charles getting dressed. He can’t help but watch, finding it impossible to look away while the lean muscles of Charles’s back and arms are out in the open exposed like this. 

Charles perhaps, once he has tucked in that crisp white dress shirt and carries his matching black jacket thrown coolly over his shoulder as he is about to make his exit, hears the sounds of Pierre shifting under the covers. There is an ever present sense of urgency, although everything on display here is the gentleness only given to a sure select few if at all.

“I’ll be back later, I promise.” He leans down with a whisper, leaving a featherlight kiss to Pierre’s forehead before turning on a heel and leaving their shared space. “Go back to sleep, mon cher.”

Sleep comes easily again, and Pierre never hears the soft closing of the front door.

§

Only once Pierre has properly woken up with a mug of his favorite tea does he feel entirely human again, but there a whole host of those emotions that come with it.

Things could be so much worse.

The quietness of this otherwise comforting environment remind Pierre of what it was really like when he was by himself, back when the mere sight of Charles was enough to incite some kind of inner conflict. What it was really like to pick himself up, gather the pieces of Pierre the individual and piece them back together in a space of his own. What it was really like to be the one in control, leaving Charles behind in bed asleep as he made his exit. 

A knock at the door breaks Pierre from his thoughts. The tea mug’s last tendrils of steam rise into the air as his fingers close on the door handle and twist.

When Pierre opens the door and finds himself staring into the eyes of Max Verstappen, something inside of him freezes over. Out of all the people that could show up at his front door, something inside of him expects this one the absolute least. However the other part of him isn’t surprised in the slightest, not when there could be some other kind of motive involved even if it feels like it’s been far too long. 

Far too long and far too soon all at once.

“Just the person I wanted to talk to.” Max says with a hint of a smile as Pierre lets him in under the rationale that this isn’t just someone, let alone a one time teammate and friend. 

Maybe it is the indiscretions of the past that make something about this feel odd, as if somehow Max is looking for Charles instead and not telling the truth. Pierre wasn’t and still isn’t privy to all the details of Charles’s past relationship, and he finds that maybe it is better to let some things go untold. Max even now doesn’t entirely expect Pierre to forgive him.

“So, where is he?” Wrong question. 

Yet, Pierre obliges Max with an answer. “Press event. He left early this morning.”

“Good, I wanted to make sure he that wasn’t here. He wouldn’t like me being here.”

A lingering uneasiness in Pierre’s mind deflates only just enough to make this feel a bit better then it does at the present moment. 

And yet. 

Yet, the awkwardness clouds the air like fog.

“I almost didn’t know where I was going, it’s been so long.” 

“I think you know your way around here quite well, don’t you think?”

Pierre watches the way that Max stiffens on the couch opposite his own, the sleek glass coffee table being the only thing that separates them. Clearly Pierre has touched on a subject that Max, who he knows for a fact to be without shame of any sort, finds uncomfortable given the setting. Maybe he too remembers Pierre catching the two of them _in flagrante delicto_, with Max’s hand around Charles’s throat just so and a familiar voice trailing him as the front door slammed shut without so much as a word. Even less was said between them a year later until Charles had cornered him outside of the Toro Rosso motorhome on some race weekend in the not so distant past.

_“Pierre, please talk to me. I would give anything to know what you are thinking.” Charles’s voice and eyes hold the faintest hint of desperation and for a moment Pierre does not recognize the person before him, hand clasped around his wrist as Pierre looks over his shoulder with the least effort. He could easily yank his wrist from the other’s hand, slam the door in his face and leave him to his own devices but Pierre finds it in himself to indulge Charles with an unemotional tone of voice. “There isn’t anything to talk about, Charles. You don’t have to worry about me forcing you to change yourself into something you can’t be.” In the end, Pierre has his way and Charles is left with a feeling that he is not entirely familiar with as the door clicks shut._

Max changes the subject and given the question prior, Pierre entirely expects it. “When you left him, every time I would come to see him he was distracted. He was there, but his mind was clearly in another place. Is that the Charles you thought you knew? After he got up he didn’t say a word to me. But he didn’t have to because I knew.” He watches Max rise from the couch as he prepares to leave. “It was nice to see you, Pierre.” 

There is no need to show him the way out, he knows it all too well.

§

Pierre has just turned out the living room lights and made his way to the bedroom when the front door opens and then closes. It isn’t long until Charles appears, smiling with a hint of something else. His jacket is unbuttoned. The top three buttons on his dress shirt undone.

“Did you miss me?” He walks closer to where Pierre stands by the bed, all controlled grace like a panther.

Pierre’s eyes never leave him for a moment, and the corners of his lips quirk up into a smile of his own. “I did.” He says simply, never one for grand words or confessions. The time for that has come and gone.

“Good.” Charles responds as Pierre lands back first onto the bed. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you all day.”

Words lead to fervent kisses. 

Fervent kisses lead to clothes left abandoned on the floor to be cared about another time.

Everything ends with Pierre’s name falling from Charles’s lips, a litany.

**Author's Note:**

> § In flagrante delicto is a legal term which is used to indicate that someone has been caught in the act of committing an offense.
> 
> § I was torn on what to title the fic, and even though I went with the lyric from Don Giovanni instead of the Interpol lyric ‘So Put That Hand Into Mine’ was an interesting play on what I ended up going with.
> 
> The playlist and lyrics that I found inspiring are as follows: 
> 
> § If I get there early will it be the right time  
Our heaven is just waiting  
So put your hand into mine  
(Specialist // Interpol)
> 
> § You are known for insatiable needs  
I don't know a thing  
(Pace Is the Trick // Interpol)
> 
> § I will surprise you sometime  
I'll come around  
Oh, I will surprise you sometime  
I'll come around  
When you're down  
(Untitled // Interpol)
> 
> § I can still feel it when you lie  
Pick a rose just to hide my face  
(The Scale // Interpol)
> 
> § Thought I was getting carat gold  
And what I got was you  
(36 Degrees // Placebo)


End file.
